


Each and Every Open Door

by hollybennett123



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Asgard, M/M, Oh My God, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Thor (2011), Seduction, Sibling Incest, Sloppy Seconds, Some Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybennett123/pseuds/hollybennett123
Summary: “Ten trillion souls,” Loki says softly. “Yet your gaze lingers on mine.”





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What???

It is a conversation Heimdall would prefer not to have, but nevertheless feels as if he ought to.

He waits until Loki is alone before he goes to him some time after midnight; finds him standing on one of the castle’s balconies, leaning against the railings and looking out over Asgard in all its moonlit grandeur.

“Sleep does evade us when we seek it most,” Heimdall says in sympathy as he approaches.

“It does,” Loki murmurs, sparing him a glance over his shoulder. He looks weary indeed.

“I do find it intriguing,” Heimdall says gently, coming to stand alongside him, “that for a few moments yesterday you vanished from my sight entirely.”

Loki stiffens alongside him with the realisation that Heimdall sought him out deliberately, his passing by no mere coincidence. It is only brief, his demeanour tense one moment and nonchalant the next. He is almost as good at putting up walls as Heimdall is at seeing right through them.

“How odd,” Loki says lightly. He stares straight ahead, as if speaking to the stars themselves. “I was studying in the library for much of yesterday, as I recall. I cannot imagine why you couldn’t see me there, your _gifts_ being as they are.”

Sighing, Heimdall chooses his words carefully.

“Loki, I am tasked with watching you for a reason and look only when I need to. Whatever dark magic you are employing to conceal yourself, I suggest you think otherwise.”

Loki frowns at him, his irritation palpable.

“You would _dare_ accuse me — ”

“Yes,” Heimdall interjects calmly, “I would. What you seek to do is dangerous indeed.”

“I am not,” Loki lies. “But if I were, I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

How sullen he is at times, when outside of Thor's sun-bright orbit; an adult but only barely, he has yet to lose the childish petulance he so often reverts to when challenged. It is not only Loki’s own safety that is in question, for the fact he seeks to hide himself at all is a worrying development. When it comes to Thor, Heimdall trusts him with his life and finds his faith never wavers. Loki, he prefers not to dwell on: he has yet to determine whether it is his trust or his suspicion that is misplaced.

“Ten trillion souls,” Loki says softly. “Yet your gaze lingers on mine.”

“You are an Odinson and thus a Prince of Asgard,” Heimdall reminds him. “I keep watch over trillions of souls across all the Nine, it is true, but it is hardly surprising that my watch falls upon you and Thor more than most.”

Loki’s mouth twists.

“Thor is — ”

“ — in your bed.” Heimdall says quietly, uninterested in Loki’s attempts at deflecting. “Exactly as you left him.”

Loki’s knuckles tighten on the railing, his face carefully blank but for the tension in his jaw he can’t quite keep hidden. Heimdall hadn’t necessarily planned on diverting the conversation this way tonight, but it felt like as good a time as any to have a conversation that has been a long time coming. That Heimdall knows what he and Thor do behind closed doors can hardly have been a revelation to Loki, yet he appears so unsettled that Heimdall half expects him to flee.

“Loki, my sight is a burden as often as it is a gift,” Heimdall tells him. “The horrors I have looked upon are unimaginable to most. So long as Asgard remains safe and your lives are not in danger I have no reason to speak to anyone about anything you or Thor may do, together or apart. I am not easily shocked, and it is no one’s business but your own.”

Loki listens warily. Takes a tremulous breath, still avoiding Heimdall’s gaze.

For all that they seem happy and carefree much of the time, it must surely be a lonely kind of love when the true nature of it remains forever shrouded. Heimdall, who knows an awful lot about loneliness, cannot help but feel a pang of sorrow for the both of them. To the best of his knowledge he is the only one in all the realms who truly sees them.

“I will tell my brother what you said today,” Loki says at length, glancing to Heimdall only briefly. “He thinks very highly of you. I know it pains him sometimes to wonder what you must think of us.”

It isn’t entirely surprising, but it is difficult to hear nonetheless. Heimdall has no need for Thor’s guilt, hasn’t once let the nature of their relationship colour his opinion of either of them, and hopes it has not been too heavy a burden to bear.

“You, on the other hand, think very little of me,” Heimdall says in jest, the mood too steeped in melancholy not to attempt to lighten it somewhat. “And have no regard for my opinion on the matter at all.”

Loki turns to face Heimdall properly with a small but genuine smile, the first he has seen since he arrived on the balcony. “Mm. I don’t recall saying that,” he says primly, his eyes bright with amusement. “You put words in my mouth, Heimdall.”

This is more the Loki he knows; meekness has never looked well on him. Heimdall returns his smile warmly before turning his attention to the night sky once again. He allows the silence to stretch between them like still waters, not quite comfortable but by no means troubled either. He doubts their conversation regarding Loki’s attempts at concealment will make any significant impact, but in making him aware that his attempts have not gone unnoticed he may at least think twice the next time he considers such foolishness. It is enough, for now.

Feeling oddly at peace, Heimdall turns to take his leave, inclining his head in deference. “Your Highness.”

Loki nods to him in acknowledgement, his expression indecipherable. In all the centuries Heimdall has watched over Loki, he has never quite known what to make of him.

Undoubtedly intelligent and perhaps one of Asgard’s most skilled users of Seiðr already, he is certainly unique. Intriguing, in his own way. The moonlight sharpens Loki’s features, glints off the striking green of his eyes, and for a moment Heimdall thinks he sees something of what Thor sees in him: in an abstract way, with no intent behind it, he can see the appeal.

That he allows himself to entertain this thought, even for a moment, will be the first of his mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m kinkshaming myself, don’t worry. The tag is staying, you know the one. This story has been partially written in my drafts for months and if I have to suffer so do you, it’s time to inflict this on the world over the coming weeks. Thanks @ the three or so people who'll actually read this lmao, I’m mostly just writing this for my own terrible enjoyment because I’m the worst


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured I have every intention of finishing this, but I have a million things going on IRL right now and this fic is a pain in the ass to write lmao. I love it, but it feels particularly hard getting scenes out of my head and onto the page with this one, and it takes an inordinate amount of time to wrangle the various sentences and scenes I come out with into something that flows and makes sense. Your support is appreciated, I'm honestly surprised at how many people are reading this! ♥

Idle hands are inclined to mischief, and lately Loki’s have been idle indeed. It is rare for Loki to remain in Asgard in Thor’s absence — any conflict or political matter demanding Thor’s attention would normally demand Loki’s too — but their parting was one of necessity in this instance, and when Heimdall turns his sights upon them now he must look over two realms rather than one.

It was unfortunate timing that brought a bout of sickness to Asgard just as Alfheim requested their aid in battle, and poorer luck still that Loki was one of those affected. Whilst not serious, his condition had demanded a full week for bed rest and several more for healing even with magic at his disposal. Now mostly recovered but still in a weakened state, Heimdall watches Loki grow more restless and bored by the day and keeps a closer watch on him than he usually would be inclined: Loki and boredom rarely mix well.

For all that he has Loki in his sights more often than usual, Heimdall sees little of him in person until one night when he sees Loki sleep fitfully; he tosses and turns in his bed for some time, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, and later rises to make his way to the Observatory. It is late, and Heimdall’s bed calls to him now that his customary post is complete, but nevertheless he waits for him.

Loki makes the journey along the Bifrost bridge on foot, the wind whipping at his hair with every stride. On his arrival at the Observatory’s great entrance, Heimdall turns to him with curious eyes.

“Is my brother safe?” Loki asks, his voice tight within his throat. “I — dreamt that he was not.”

Loki’s dreams have never been prophetic so far as Heimdall can tell, but he also understands the need for reassurance if his nightmares have played cruel and vivid tricks on him.

“He was healthy and whole last I checked,” Heimdall says gently. “Allow me to look again.”

Loki comes to stand alongside him, looking pensively out amongst the stars as Heimdall’s gaze falls upon Alfheim. Heimdall sees that Thor sleeps soundly in his tent, unharmed and apparently untroubled, and tells Loki so. Letting out a slow breath, Loki relaxes somewhat, the tight-wound tension in his shoulders easing.

“I thought as much,” Loki tells him. “But I had to be certain.”

They stand side by side for some time in weary yet companionable silence, looking out over the twinkling expanse of the night sky. Heimdall has seen many things throughout many centuries, but the magnificent view before him now is the only one that has ever truly felt like home. He doubts he will ever tire of it.

“When you were very small,” Heimdall begins with a smile, “you once refused to speak with me for a full fortnight after we quarrelled in a dream of yours. I cannot recall what slight my dream-self had committed, but you were so incensed that neither your mother nor your father could convince you that I should be forgiven for it. Do you remember?”

Loki shakes his head slightly with a soft breath of laughter. “I do not,” he admits. “But I can imagine it well.”

“You were at least gracious enough to forgive me in time,” Heimdall says, inclining his head. “To hold your grudge until now would have been a bit much, even for you, Loki.”

Thinning his mouth, Loki gives him a sidelong glance, clearly torn between taking offence and laughing at the truth of it. It is an expression Heimdall sees on him often, for he can never resist poking fun at him in a way few people ever dare to.

“I suppose it would,” Loki concedes, lifting his chin imperiously.

His amusement is clear, though, and when Heimdall finally retires for the night Loki walks the Bifrost bridge alongside him, shoulder to shoulder, the silence between them still warm.

-*-

“Do your dreams trouble you still?” Heimdall asks when Loki returns to him a few days later.

“No,” Loki says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “But I grew bored of being confined to the palace with little to occupy me and thought I might come here instead. Mother means well, but there is only so long that I can tolerate her fussing and fretting. How is Thor?”

Heimdall takes a slow breath and steels himself, for it is a question that weighs heavily on his own mind today. “He fights, last I saw.”

Loki hesitates, frowning. A complicated series of emotions flash across his expression before he hurriedly tucks them away. “And now?”

“The battle is not yet over,” Heimdall tells him, letting his sight reach Thor just long enough to satisfy himself again of his safety. “But he is uninjured, and fights as capably as ever.”

How much simpler things had been some years back when the greatest foes Thor and Loki had faced were in the castle’s training grounds. Sometimes ignorance would be a blessing, but he is afforded no such luxury.

“Then let us find a better way to pass the time than worrying over Thor, who is quite capable of looking after himself,” Loki says firmly. He conjures a table, two chairs and a deck of cards, taking one seat and gesturing to the other.

“Impressive,” Heimdall says. It is not overly complex magic, but Loki is able to control his Seiðr so deftly and with such grace that is something quite special to witness.

They while away the hours as the sun sets, playing old games and teaching each other new ones. Heimdall cannot say that he minds: there is no reason why he cannot fulfil his duties whilst they do so. He appreciates the distraction, and if Loki can be kept so easily diverted it might keep him from his usual tricks.

In the end, Thor’s battle is won. He and his fellow Aesir return to their tents largely unharmed and in good spirits, ready to fight another day. Heimdall and Loki both can breathe a little easier once Heimdall shares this news.

“One more game?” Loki asks, his eyes bright despite the late hour.

“Just the one.”

“Best of three,” Loki says, laying on the charm.

Heimdall finds himself agreeing all too readily. For one reason or another, Loki is surprisingly difficult to say no to. 

-*-

“You are making a habit of these visits, Loki,” Heimdall says. He doesn’t turn to look at him: he saw Loki coming long before he arrived.

“Perhaps,” Loki says, unconcerned. “How does Thor fare today? I heard rumours he may return to Asgard sooner rather than later.”

“Within the week, is my understanding,” Heimdall says, half-distracted as he turns his gaze upon Alfheim. “He is well.”

“Where is he now?” Loki asks. Heimdall had hoped that the answer he’d given prior would be sufficient.

“He is bathing.”

“Ah,” Loki says and then falls silent. Something about the way Loki’s gaze slides over Heimdall makes him distinctly uncomfortable. “He is beautiful, is he not?” Loki says after a moment’s pause, a question that is surely rhetorical for so many reasons.

Loki's casual insouciance and the hint of a smirk he wears are utterly infuriating, but Heimdall merely turns to him with a level gaze and remains silent for long enough that Loki must surely give up or otherwise change his conversation’s course under the weight of Heimdall’s displeasure.

“So serious, Heimdall,” Loki says, playful mockery in his tone. Heimdall should have known better than to think he would let it go so easily. “You won’t deny it?”

On the balance of his strengths and weaknesses Heimdall has never considered himself to be a particularly good liar. Here and now, he almost wishes that he were.

Loki gives him a considering look. “He thinks the same of you.”

This revelation does not come entirely as a surprise. Thor spent many a day in the Observatory in his adolescence, chattering to Heimdall about anything and everything and ostensibly seeking to learn more about the intricacies of space. His frequent visits and wide-eyed gaze were anything but understated: Thor has never been particularly good at wearing his heart anywhere but his sleeve, moreso then than now.

At the time, Heimdall had seen it as nothing more than a silly boyhood fancy that would soon pass, and felt nothing but platonic fondness in return. He convinced himself as Thor grew older and his attentions were taken up further with the duties that come with being a prince that Thor’s feelings had softened to something akin to friendship. How wrong he might have been.

“This is not a conversation I wish to partake in.” Heimdall says coolly, attempting to quell his rising irritation with little success. He aims for flippancy, for disbelief that Loki could even consider such falsehoods. “You see fit to tell me this now, when he has never thought to mention it himself.”

“Oh, Heimdall,” Loki says with vicious pleasure. “As if our dear, brave Thor would ever be brave enough to ask for this.” Loki moves to stand before him and lowers his voice as if sharing a secret. “He would have you in our bed with us, if given the chance.”

Heimdall hates the way his traitorous body reacts, Loki’s words fanning the embers of a flame he never dares stoke himself. There are so many reasons why this would be a terrible idea that Heimdall doesn’t know where to begin.

“ _Loki_ ,” he says with incredulity, avoiding Loki’s knowing gaze. “My loyalty lies with the King, my responsibility is to Asgard first and foremost and it is my _duty_ to protect you both. Remember also that you have lived for only a millennium whilst I have lived for two; you are barely of age — ”

“ — but of age, nonetheless,” Loki interrupts, unperturbed. “Can you honestly say that you have never wondered what it would be like to bed him?”

“Please,” Heimdall says gently, and hopes it sounds less like pleading to Loki’s ears than it does his own. “Do not ask me that.”

It is quite possibly the worst thing he could say short of admitting it outright. Worse still is Loki’s utter lack of surprise when he quite rightly takes Heimdall’s words for a confession: Heimdall is merely confirming what Loki had already guessed at, what he had somehow _known_ despite Heimdall keeping his feelings so close-guarded that he barely acknowledged them himself.

“I’ll leave you to ponder that one in your own time,” Loki says conspiratorially.

The way he looks at Heimdall in the moment before he walks away makes Heimdall feel as if Loki can see right to the very heart of him, his secrets laid bare. A moment later, Heimdall is alone with nothing but his thoughts and a creeping feeling of dread.

He truly wishes he could hate the lies Loki spins, but finds nothing but the truth in all that has been said tonight. 

-*-

In Thor’s absence, Asgard feels in some way incomplete, as though missing something important that cannot quite be defined. A sense of rightness comes when he returns, a restoration of balance.

Thor clasps Heimdall’s shoulder with affection the moment he returns via the Bifrost. He is clearly fatigued but nevertheless cheerful, and sends his friends on without him.

“How fare you, Heimdall? And the stars, too?”

“I fare well, as do the stars,” Heimdall tells him. Thor’s good mood is infectious.

Their interactions feel tainted to some subtle degree by the things Loki knows and the feelings Heimdall will not acknowledge, but at the same time it is difficult to ever truly feel uneasy in Thor’s presence. He is too warm and too easy-going, and it is all too straightforward to push feelings deep and pretend all is well.

“I do hope my brother hasn’t caused too much trouble in my absence,” Thor says with amusement.

“Asgard still stands, does it not?” Heimdall says in jest. He steers the conversation away from Loki; to keep him as the topic of discussion feels too much like dangerous ground.

It is only when Thor turns to leave, something fleetingly wistful left unspoken in his expression after he bids Heimdall a good night, that Heimdall thinks back on the things Loki had shared and is forced to admit that he isn’t the only one pretending here. 

-*-

Loki’s social calls do not cease, and there are several more in the weeks that follow. He acts as though their last conversation never happened, but instead slips innuendo and sly insinuations into conversation so subtly that Heimdall cannot be sure they exist at all. Perhaps it is his own mind twisting things.

Conversations with Loki make Heimdall feel like he’s being slowly whittled down into a new version of himself, Loki’s wit and his carefully chosen words chipping away at Heimdall’s self-control, re-shaping him each and every time he finds himself thinking on things he would rather leave unexamined. Thoughts that just weeks ago felt untenable now slip into his mind unbidden, and instead of thinking _no_ he thinks _what if_ , tangled guilt and temptation sitting hot in his belly.

He could ask Loki to leave, or at least attempt to put a stop to any unwanted threads of conversation. He does not, and tries not to dwell on whether this is idiocy or cowardice or both. Loki’s sharp-focused attention is curiously addictive.

Often during Loki’s visits they play a game: chess, cards, whichever game Loki feels like conjuring to pass the time. Other times, Loki merely sits in the Observatory and watches the stars. Watches Heimdall, making no attempt to pretend otherwise. Makes conversation, or doesn’t.

“Does Thor know you are here?” Heimdall asks him one day when curiosity gets the better of him.

“Sometimes. Sometimes not. Does it matter?”

Heimdall doesn't know whether it matters; doesn’t know how to feel about any of this. He does know that it is _disappointment_ he feels when Loki doesn’t visit him the next day, the wrongness of it inescapable and damning. 

-*-

Thor knows of the conversations Heimdall and Loki have shared. Precisely what Loki has told him, Heimdall cannot be certain, but he sees it now in the way Thor looks at him with a strange, guarded hopefulness that wasn’t there before.

Heimdall, despite his far-reaching gaze, pretends not to see that which is right in front of him, but Thor is no fool and Heimdall wouldn’t want him half so badly if he were.

-*-

The evening is drawing to a close, the summer air finally cooling. A final game of chess is to be played to decide on the victor, their previous two games seeing them evenly matched.

“What is it like, to see the universe as you do?” Loki asks Heimdall with measured curiosity, breaking the silence. His hand hovers over the chess board for a moment before he finally makes his move. “Everyone’s secrets are yours. You could destroy whomever you pleased should you choose not to keep them.”

He catches Heimdall’s eye when he looks up, and doesn’t then look away.

“It is not in my nature to want to do so,” Heimdall tells him calmly, holding his gaze. _Is it in yours?_ he thinks but does not say. “I can avert my eyes should they fall on matters that don't concern me.”

It is, apparently, the opening Loki was waiting for.

“You can,” Loki acknowledges, a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “But do you?”

Heimdall gives him a mildly disapproving look before returning his attention to their game. Weighs his options as he weighs his words.

“I don’t watch,” Heimdall says, caught between amusement and exasperation. He selects his remaining knight, takes Loki’s rook with it. “You nor anyone else, if that is what you are implying.”

It appears that Loki cannot quite decide whether or not this is true. When he runs one finger thoughtfully along his bottom lip, Heimdall’s gaze follows the movement and lingers just a moment too long: it is unintentional and far, far too obvious.

“A shame,” Loki says silkily, pushing his queen across the board with two fingers in a slow, deliberate slide. A poor move, strategically speaking; perhaps he already knows it. “Had it ever occurred to you that perhaps we might want you to?”

Heimdall swallows. His final move is brusque and to the point.

“Checkmate.”

The win might be Heimdall’s, but Loki’s grin is sharp and knowing: victor of a different game entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere?

The feast is raucous, merry, and continues long into the night. The mood is one of celebration, an abundance of good food and fine wine put forth to mark the return of the Allfather and his royal court following a series of successful political missions. It has been more than a few months since Heimdall last spoke with either Loki or Thor, barring a brief exchange of pleasantries on their eventual return to Asgard, and to see them only from afar has in many ways been a blessed relief. Any other feelings on the matter remain purposefully unexamined.

Loki’s interests are fleeting and fickle, and it occurred to Heimdall as the weeks passed by that conversations shared prior might soon be cast aside and purposefully forgotten. Now Loki sits alongside him, seated between Thor’s chair and Heimdall’s own, saying nothing with words and everything in satisfied, sidelong glances that confirm he remembers all too well.

“My apologies,” Loki murmurs as he leans into Heimdall’s space to pluck a sweet from a brimming bowl, the first words he has spoken to him all night despite their proximity.

The fingers of Loki’s other hand brush fleetingly over Heimdall’s thigh as Loki steadies himself, the toe of his boot skimming over Heimdall’s ankle in a move that appears accidental but is surely anything but. Smirking, Loki sits back down. Slips the sweet into his mouth and delicately sucks the sugar-dust from his fingertips.

Heimdall ignores him, feigning interest in conversations taking place further down the table, though this decision only seems to amuse Loki all the more. When Thor presses closer to Loki to converse with him it is a welcome distraction.

“It will be most satisfying to return to the comfort of my own bed at last after our travels,” Thor says.

“Indeed, I was thinking the same of my own,” Loki responds easily. Still he watches Heimdall from the corner of his eye, his attention unwavering. “If you intend to retire now, brother, I’m sure I will see you at breakfast.”

How practiced they are at hiding, Heimdall thinks. Thinly veiled questions and answers in everything they say to one another, neat little inflections acting as code. He has no doubt that one of their beds will remain empty tonight.

When Thor heads out of the dining hall, Loki lingers for a minute or two longer; finally bids their table goodnight, and gets to his feet.

“Goodness,” Loki says, steadying himself against the table as if having drunk an excess of wine, though Heimdall barely saw him touch a drop all evening. How convenient that he sways closer to Heimdall’s seat; lowers his voice so his words might be for Heimdall alone. “I must have had more than I realised. Still, I’m sure you will _—_ keep an _eye_ on me. Ensure I return safely to my chambers?”

What Heimdall is expected to say in return, he has no inkling. The question appears to be rhetorical regardless for Loki departs swiftly, leaving Heimdall to his thoughts. He returns his attention to the feast as much as he is able, helping himself to food that remains uneaten on his plate and partaking briefly in conversations he forgets shortly after.

That his mind wanders again seems inevitable. Loki’s parting words felt not only like permission but like encouragement, yet Heimdall still has no reason to look. He does so regardless.

They did at least make it as far as Thor’s bedchambers, albeit barely. Hungry for one another, frantic and desperate, Thor has Loki up against the door, Loki’s legs around his waist and their clothing hastily tugged aside just enough for Thor to get at him.

Panting, Loki pulls at Thor’s hair. Whispers something wicked into his ear that has Thor groaning, working his hips harder. When Thor’s fingers press into Loki’s thighs hard enough to bruise, his thrusts snapping and brutal, Loki merely throws his head back and welcomes it with breathless laughter and encouragement.

For all his hidden strength he looks slight enough to break under Thor’s bulk: a delicate, pliant little doll pinioned so prettily on Thor’s cock, and the thought is horribly, deliciously sickening in its wrongness. At the sight of them Heimdall’s grip tightens upon his chalice’s stem, spilling wine over the brim that bleeds conspicuously into the tablecloth. Unwanted heat flares in his gut, spreading outward as swiftly as the stain that blooms upon the linen.

Crimson on cream, much like the marks Thor leaves on his brother’s body when he fucks him, and Heimdall is beginning to forget how it felt not to want the things he shouldn’t.

-*-

Heimdall looks upon the pair of them some time later. He tells himself it is a necessity, his responsibility, and ignores the way he burns with anticipation each and every time he readies himself to turn his gaze upon them now.

They both are asleep in Thor’s bed, intertwined. It is relief to see so bland a scene, not disappointment, or so Heimdall likes to tell himself.

He wonders if perhaps he is a better liar than he ever gave himself credit for, so long as he is the one on the receiving end.

-*-

“It must be dreadfully lonely up here,” Loki says conversationally, leaning idly against the wall and looking around the Observatory. “Married to your work, in a manner of speaking. You know, I’ve never known you to take a partner or lover in all the years I’ve known you. How _—_ _frustrating_ that must be.”

It feels to Heimdall as if he is being mocked and pitied both. He hates the way Loki looks at him, detests even moreso that he feels the need to defend himself at all.

“I seek company from time to time, when it suits me. Do not concern yourself.”

Loki smiles, arching one eyebrow. Goes to leave, but hovers for a moment in the doorway.

“How boring they will all seem,” Loki says sweetly, nonchalant and with no lack of conviction. “Once you have had me.”

-*-

Loki comes to Heimdall’s quarters the next night. For all that Heimdall knows it is a fundamentally appalling idea to do so, he doesn’t hesitate to let him in for fear someone might see them conversing outside: Loki has never visited this part of the palace and has no plausible excuse to do so.

Once inside, Loki takes in Heimdall’s simple and homely living room with an air of mildly unimpressed boredom. Since that is how he looks upon most things, Heimdall tries not to take it too personally.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Heimdall tells him after a stretch of silence, careful but firm.

He feels, in an odd way, vulnerable: generally, when Loki stands before him, Heimdall wears his customary armour or the practical and smart layers of cloth and leather he wears outside of his duties. Now, he has nothing but light breeches and a thin tunic, barefoot upon the floorboards and feeling strangely exposed. They are alone, in Heimdall’s home of all places, and letting Loki through the door feels like one of the most dangerous and foolish things he has ever done.

“Shouldn’t I?” Loki says, playing at coy.

He takes a step toward Heimdall, who takes a step back. Unperturbed, Loki continues until Heimdall meets the armchair behind him, the worn leather warmed by the glow of the soft-crackling fireplace behind it. He sinks down into it before he even realises he’s doing so, completely at Loki’s bidding.

“Let me touch you,” Loki says quietly, placing one hand lightly upon Heimdall’s knee but moving no further.

Heimdall takes Loki’s hand, the moment suspended in time: take it or leave it, he fully knows that the choice is his entirely. The choice is his, yet he is _weak_. He slides his fingers around Loki’s wrist and pulls him in.

Loki slides into his lap with a quiet, contented hum of approval, the splay of his thighs dangerously arousing. Firelight glints off his eyes, captivating and otherworldly. Heimdall looks at him and _wants_.

After regarding him for a moment, Loki strokes the pad of his thumb over Heimdall’s cheekbone; moves in slow motion as if to kiss him but stops just short of it. Heimdall cannot help but lift his chin, seeking it and powerless to resist.

“Ah,” Loki murmurs, teasing and disapproving, his breath ghosting hotly over Heimdall’s cheek as he turns away just enough to tease. “Not yet.”

Heimdall’s heart pounds, his cock throbbing hotly beneath the laces of his breeches as he grips at Loki’s hips. Loki straightens taller and shifts his weight slightly on his knees, getting comfortable before settling more fully onto Heimdall’s lap once again. It is all too easy to imagine him sinking slowly down onto his cock, riding him right where they sit; for a moment, his self-control barely contained, Heimdall closes his eyes.

“What would you have me do?” Heimdall asks quietly.

He feels Loki shiver against him, barely perceptible, and wonders, wildly, how hard he’d shake with four fingers inside him and teeth at his throat.

“I want you to listen,” Loki breathes, moving to mouth at Heimdall’s neck. His mouth is pure molten heat, devastatingly good. “Let me tell you what I want.”

“And what is that?”

Loki ducks his head to murmur directly into his ear. Heimdall feels rather than sees his slanted smile. “To see Thor satisfied.”

Heimdall isn’t certain what answer he was expecting, yet this one still catches him off guard. It was always a factor, of course, but Loki speaks so decisively that it seems it’s the most important thing of all. The driving force dictating their every action. It’s also maddeningly non-specific: Heimdall’s mind races with possibilities he doesn’t dare voice just yet.

“Why me?” Heimdall asks at length, infinitely curious. Loki pulls back slightly to look at him properly. “You might have anyone you wanted, Thor too.”

“You are the only one who sees us,” Loki says simply. “Who else could have us both at once?”

He knows they spend nights in the beds of others from time to time with no love lost between them, so that aspect is not unusual. Loki speaks the truth, though: this is unprecedented. Who else could see them as Heimdall does?

“How flattering,” Heimdall says, not bothering to hide the bitterness that creeps into his tone. “To be first choice in a party of one.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Loki says sharply, surprising him. “Thor would have you with or without me, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He touches gentle fingertips to Heimdall’s jawline and looks him in the eye. Shifts his weight forward so Heimdall can feel how hard he is, the feel of it sending a sudden shock of dizzying arousal lancing through him. “I am _—_ _amenable_ ,” Loki adds, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Thor wants to watch. I want to _be_ watched. That is what we desire _—_ amongst other things.”

With a considering look, Loki seems to come to some private decision; moves deftly from Heimdall’s lap to stand before him, neatly smoothing his own clothing and looking over Heimdall appraisingly through eyes that remain heavy-lidded.

“I considered sucking your cock tonight,” Loki says nonchalantly. Heimdall remains seated, pinned under his weighted gaze. He is so hard it _aches_. “How deliciously eager Thor would be if I went to him with the taste of your spend still on my tongue. But he can wait for it, as can you.”

The moment the door falls shut, Heimdall heaves a shuddering breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His palms sting where he’s clenching his fists, neat divots carved by the press of his fingernails.

What little resolve he had left is gone: it is only a matter of time.

-*-

When Loki finally kisses him, he gives Heimdall every opportunity to stop it. Heimdall knows immediately, his pulse thrumming from the moment Loki locks eyes with him and lures him in, that he will not.

This is always where this was heading, he thinks: the inevitable beginning of the end in this fine disaster.

The location is dangerous enough to be truly senseless, an impromptu meeting in a shadowed corner of the palace only a few hurried steps from where their paths unexpectedly crossed. In hindsight, that Loki happened to be walking the same corridor as Heimdall at the exact same moment could be no mere coincidence.

“Do you want this?” Loki asks softly, backing up against the wall and drawing Heimdall closer. He glances to Heimdall’s lips, slides a hand around the back of his neck.

Heimdall’s hands go instinctively to Loki’s waist, holding him in place. He looks so good _—_ dark-eyed and desperate for it _—_ feels and smells so unbearably, dizzyingly _good_ , and it’s been too long by far since Heimdall touched anyone this way. Mere hours ago he stripped a hand over his cock to the thought of Thor watching him take Loki on his hands and knees, Loki’s body hot and yielding and all the sweeter under Thor’s gaze; spilled into his fist so hard he could barely breathe with it, and wonders now what part of Hel is reserved for him now that he is surely damned.

When Heimdall moves in to kiss him, Loki moves to meet him halfway, his lips parting the moment Heimdall seeks entrance with the lightest touch of his tongue. Heimdall fits himself close, pinning Loki to the wall with his weight and his hips, and finally tastes him as he’s wanted to for what feels like an age, drinking him in.

Loki rolls his hips up against him with a soft, breathy little sound of pleasure, and Heimdall would take him right here if he could. The thought has him groaning, a low rumble in his chest, and he bites at Loki’s bottom lip to quieten himself. When he finally breaks the kiss, so little space between them that their mouths almost touch still, they both are breathing harder.

“If you had doubt over what it is that I want,” Heimdall says quietly, determined not to let his voice shake as he breathes each word against Loki’s jaw, “then let that be your answer.”

Loki trembles against him and it feels like some small victory to leave him somewhat off-balance. To take back some minor degree of control.

Heimdall walks away and doesn’t look back.

-*-

“Tonight,” says Loki. A statement as opposed to a question, his tone unusually gentle and devoid of mockery.

Taking a slow, even breath, Heimdall eventually turns away from the expanse of stars before him to look at Loki properly. Regards him for a moment, steps closer and reaches out to touch, but finds his hand goes right through him, encountering nothing but air.

Loki cocks his head to one side, thoughtful and amused. _Not yet_ , he seems to say with nothing more than a quirk of his brow. _Have patience_.

“Midnight, perhaps?” Loki says. “Don’t be late.”

Heimdall doesn’t say yes. He doesn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The chorus of Say No To This from the Hamilton soundtrack plays in the distance*
> 
> I'm fully aware that this fic is a) obnoxious and b) morally questionable but oh boy is it fun and I love it


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